


Loving Enjolras

by busanmonarchy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Making Love, and a lot of fondness, i'm sorry guys, just rambling, not THIS time, not very detailed smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busanmonarchy/pseuds/busanmonarchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loving Enjolras was intoxication with sunlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving Enjolras

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something I wrote while my girlfriend was at the movies. Lots of fond rambling. I hope this is (not) decent.

 Loving Enjolras was intoxication with sunlight. Loving Enjolras was probably the bravest thing he'd ever done.

 Loving Enjolras was a storm. It was good or bad, depending on your point of view. He couldn't help himself, he loved him even when soaked in the muddy streets miles away from home.

 Loving Enjolras was to have a home. It was red, gold and dangerous. It was having equality with dinner and politics with breakfast. Enjolras always hated the faint taste of cynicism with his coffee at three in the morning. It was always funny when he threw it away, though.

 Loving Enjolras was to be consumed. To stop being flesh and blood and start being indestructable ideas, pointless faith. Loving Enjolras was to be immersed in ideals, where you couldn't see or hear the real world clearly.

 Loving Enjolras was passion. All the time, each second of the day. He still remembers that night in which his blue eyes were red. His expression was blank, the frown had been thrown somewhere between the coffee table and the old armchair in the corner of the living room. He was speechless and it was so fucking scary to see him that way. Scary and maybe a bit blurred.   
  _Why is the bottle empty, Grantaire?_

 Loving Enjolras was promising. It was lying and lying just to see his fond eyes. Those five seconds of calm blue were worth the three hours of silence and disappointed shouts when the lie crumbled down. It was okay. He could always cover it up with another promise. One he would try to keep.

 Loving Enjolras was venerating. Through pages or sketchbooks, lips or names. It was acknowledging him, his grace, filling up lines with his light until he had created the personification of the sun. Maybe the second one.

 Loving Enjolras was also taking. It was asking and being gifted. It was kissing and being kissed back. It was being wanted by a god. One morning, he asked himself if maybe he was taking a bit of Apollo's light every time. "No", Enjolras whispered back after he realised he had said it out loud. "You're feeling beautiful because you're loved."

 Loving Enjolras was laughing. It was finding out new things about a god down from his pedestal. It was smiling fondly at his morning mane. It was watching as he stumbled through words and furniture, all at the same time.

 Loving Enjolras was to burn. It was to be owned in every single way. It was to leave their rumpled clothes and beautiful differences in their living room floor and go sleep in the balcony, under the stars. It was to be free, loved and whole, and gods, so fucking full. It was to please him, to always give more than he asked. It was to be fucked so slowly it made him want to cry. It was to find out that it wasn't fucking, it was to make love, and the gods knew he wanted it everyday. He wanted his god, it was a right that had been given to him and he wouldn't let it escape between his fingertips. He would claim it.

 And loving Enjolras was to never be even slightly sorry about it. It was to finally be okay.  
 And he was.


End file.
